Boca del Infierno
by komm mit mir
Summary: INCOMPLETE - currently shelved. Harry Potter makes a wish. It doesn't quite go the way he'd planned.
1. If Wishes were Fishes

BOCA DEL INFIERNO 

**Chapter One**

**_If Wishes were Fishes..._**

All was quiet in the sleeping town of Little Whinging. The sun was just beginning to rise above the rooftops; a new day full of possibilities. Perfectly normal families living perfectly normal lives in a perfectly normal town in Surrey. One family, however, was anything but perfect. They hid a very important secret behind their doors and no one in the little town knew it – just the way the Dursleys liked it. Each perfectly normal day, Vernon Dursley trotted off to Grunnings, the drill company he worked for, and Petunia Dursley spent her day nosing into others' business; she was quite content to spy on and gossip about her neighbours to anyone who would listen. Their son, Dudley, was a large boy who delighted in reinforcing his superiority over the other boys in the area whenever he was home from school. Upon entering the Dursley household, that was the family in its entirety, for all intents and purposes. Photos of Dudley proudly put on show, displaying his development and growth from birth to the enormous human whale he now impersonated. In fact, the Dursleys seemed like a perfectly normal, happy family – what secret could they possibly have?

Hidden away from prying eyes, another boy lived in this house, in the littlest bedroom on the second floor. But the secret was not that the boy inhabited the house, oh no. Even if most of the neighbourhoud hardly ever saw him, they knew that there was another boy who lived there – the orphaned nephew of Petunia Dursley. That knowledge was impossible to contain. It was unavoidable – he had, after all, had to attend school. What the Dursleys kept secret was that the boy was a freak. Yes, a _freak_, and that he attended the local school for criminally insane delinquent boys, St Brutus'. Or so they told anyone whoever enquired after the boy's whereabouts during term. Yet even this was not the _real _secret. The real secret was that the boy was a wizard, and every September, he left for King's Cross and the train that would take him away to wizard school. For the moment, though, it was summer, and both boys were at home for the holidays.

As the sun gradually began its slow path across the sky, the neighbourhood of Privet Drive, Little Whinging, was beginning to show signs of waking up. Birds began to take flight, searching for food; early morning joggers were warming up before starting off; the usual movements and noises of early morning.

Harry rolled onto his back, and stared at the ceiling. Another sleepless night had come to pass; his fourteenth so far this summer. From his position on the bed, Harry could see the paint on his ceiling was starting to peel, just a little at the edges. Uncle Vernon would have no qualms about neglecting to repaint it, though. Making his way down to the kitchen, careful to avoid waking his aunt and uncle, Harry mentally checked the list of chores he had to complete by the end of the day: weed the garden, mow the lawn, clean out the garage, and cook dinner. _Good. Only a short list today_, he thought wryly. Aunt Petunia had been studiously writing out a list of chores at the start of each week, and allocating days for the completion of each. Unfortunately, Harry wasn't even able to lump various chores together to make things a little easier. Things had to be done on the day that was listed, and in the order dictated by his aunt. It was a new form of torture.

Soon, the smell of sizzling bacon and sausages permeated the kitchen. He had barely cracked the first egg when Aunt Petunia's voice struck him like a whip across his shoulders.

"And just what do you think you're doing, boy?"

"Starting breakfast, Aunt Petunia." He replied, whirling around. _What does it look like?_ he thought with a well-disguised eye-roll back towards the stove. Harry gradually let his racing heartbeat slow itself. Nothing wakes you up better than Aunt Petunia's accusatory tone. Harry knew that she would have told him to cook breakfast if he hadn't started it anyway, yet he was given the inquisition for doing so without being instructed. His was not a fair life. Hoping she wouldn't add anything else to his list of chores, Harry turned back to the frying pan.

Aunt Petunia hrmf-ed. "Well, hurry it up. Little Duddles will be up and wanting his sausages soon."

"Yes, Aunt Petunia," Harry almost gagged. He had been hoping to be in and out of the kitchen before cousin Dudley came down to eat. Not a pretty sight, especially on an empty stomach. With a sigh, he forced the immediate tension from his body. It would not do to start the day off in such a state. Previous experience had told him it could only get worse.

* * *

Towards the end of the afternoon, Harry stretched his arms above his head in a vain attempt to alleviate his aching muscles. The only thing better would be a nice long hot shower; the beads of hot water pounding down on aching muscles would do wonders. Fat chance of that happening anytime soon. The only break Harry had had was the hour-and-a-half it took to prepare and cook dinner, and now he was back outside hauling boxes of rubbish and garden clippings around to the back of the house. 

_Number five _he counted as he dumped the fifth box. _How much rubbish can one family possibly collect?_ Granted, a lot of it was old broken toys of Dudley's that were no longer any use to anyone, and could not be pawned off to Harry as clothing or suchlike. But still. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia prided themselves on their pristine house and garden. _I guess that's why they don't have the garage on the house-tour_, Harry snickered.

Coming back around the front of the house for another load, Harry glanced around the darkening yard. Just as he turned to pick up the last box, (_Number six_), he noticed a movement in the shadowed shrubbery. Leaving the box, he moved closer, and saw two shiny black eyes.

"Snuffles? That you?" he whispered hoarsely. For all he knew, it could be a crazed alley cat with rabies or something. _Or something that Voldemort has planted. Good one, Harry._

Emerging from the shadows, the big black shaggy dog cocked his head, as if to say _Couldn't__ you tell?_ Harry sighed in relief, then looked back up to the house, to gauge where his gaolers were. He didn't want to get Sirius caught and taken away to Azkaban again. Or for him to be locked in his room all summer again. Either option was just as depressing as the other. Shuffling up to the hedge, Harry gripped the dog in a death-grip hug of affection. One would almost think the boy was starved for affection.

"It's so good to see you again," Harry said softly. "I've missed having someone to talk to all summer."

Sirius changed from his animagus form. "What about Ron and Hermione?"

"They haven't been writing that much, and I can't really talk to Uncle Vernon, now can I?" In a way Harry kind of understood his friends' lack of owls. It's not like he really ever had any news to share; all he did was chores. But they could at least tell him what _they'd_ been up to.

"No, no. I guess not," Sirius said with a dark glare at the house. Sirius held about as much faith in the Dursley's as Dumbledore did in the Minishter of Magic. Not much at all.

As if Uncle Vernon had somehow sensed the glare Sirius had sent his way, he called out to Harry, "You, boy! Have you finished with the rubbish yet?"

"Quick, Sirius, change back. You can't get caught!" Harry whispered harshly, before answering in a normal tone, "No, Uncle Vernon, not yet."

"You'd better hurry up before I have to come out there!" Harry could just imagine Uncle Vernon shaking his fist at this point.

"Yes, Uncle Vernon."

Harry walked over and picked up the last box. "I'll come back and say goodnight, Snuffles," he said. As quietly as he could, Harry unlatched the side gate and walked through, softly putting the box with the others. _There we go. All done. Uncle will be pleased._ Harry snorted. _Not._

As he opened the gate, he looked for Sirius, who was waiting, if a tad impatiently, for Harry to come back.

"Goodbye Snuffles. Send me an owl, hey? I miss ruffling Uncle Vernon's feathers," he laughed gently. The boy sighed sadly as he petted the dog. "I just wish I was anywhere but here." Thinking of the events of the past few years, he added, "Somewhere I could be safe from all this stuff – the Dursleys, Voldemort… the lot."

"Done."

* * *

Far far away, so far, that in fact it was not even on this earth, a strange being slowly clapped his hand and chuckled softly. "Excellent work, Alche. I haven't seen one that good in months!" 

The strange blue being, unknown to most, ruled the underworlds of vengeance ('justice' for those politically correct demons). For thousands of years, he had invited and conscripted beings full of vengeful thoughts and deeds, groomed them, then sent them out into the world, to reek vengeance on behalf of those who sought it. Each had his or her own method of applying the ways of vengeance. The blue creature did not interfere in his subordinates work, nor did he set out to contain the extent that each act of revenge could potentially reach. For every revengeful wish granted, however, the strange being had one stipulation, and only one: in no way was the wish to be manifested in its simplest interpretation.

Replaying the scene in his head once more, the being smiled with a serenity which belied his malevolent nature. "Our Lord and Master will be pleased. Oh yes, pleased indeed."


	2. Arrivals

**Chapter Two**

**_Arrivals_**

For anyone in Privet Drive who witnessed the event (but there was only Sirius – and who could he tell without getting in trouble?), they would say that Harry simply disappeared. One moment he was there, the next he was gone. Poof. Abracadabra and the like. Any sane person would convince themselves that they were hallucinating, or that it was a trick of the light, that there really never was a boy that disappeared into thin air. It was just not possible for those sorts of things to occur.

Hidden in the shadowed darkness of the hedge at number four, Snuffles blinked, unable to believe his canine eyes. Then, he blinked again, hoping Harry was just playing a trick on him, and would jump out and yell 'surprise' sometime soon. But, alas, to no avail. Harry was just… gone. It was like he was never there. No marks or signs of a struggle, because none had occurred. A brief flash of light that could easily be missed if one was not looking for it, and Harry was no more. Knowing that he could not ask for help from either the muggle police, or the magical community, Sirius tried to discover the cause of this catastrophic event. He thought back to their hushed conversation. No clues there. Then, Harry's last words came to mind: _'Somewhere I could_– no, not those last words. sigh The next-to-last words. Sirius tried again. '_I just wish I was anywhere but here_'. That's the ticket. He knew those words were _some_how key to Harry's disappearance; he just didn't know which how.

* * *

"So Buffy, what are you gonna do tonight? Is it a Patrol Night, or a Party at the Bronze Night?"

Back at the Magic Box, Dawn was full of hyperactive nervous energy. Nothing could spoil her mood. The quarterback of the Sunnydale Junior High football team had asked her to the Prom that afternoon. "Coz if it's Party at the Bronze Night, then we're all there!"

"Um. Okay," Buffy hesitated. Her sister hadn't even let her get past the door of the Magic Box before expecting her to have coherent thought processes. "I'll think about it, and get back to you, okay Dawnie?" She wasn't really in the mood to party, but patrolling meant she'd probably end up running into Spike…. something she'd much rather avoid. She opened her mouth to speak, but a loud pop came out instead. Everyone who had turned towards the door where Buffy had entered were preoccupied with giving her strange looks, and thus missed the delivery on the centre table. Buffy frowned, then raised her eyebrows and prepared to speak again, before thinking better of it. She simply pointed behind the group, indicating for them to turn around with a twirl of her fingers.

Gasps abounded.

"What is it?"

"Where did it come from?"

"Hey, look, it's a boy!"

"Congratulations, honey."

"Xander, this is no time for joking!"

"Yes, dear."

"Guys!"

Cautiously the group approached the table. The boy was motionless, and certainly did not look like the epitome of cleanliness or health. His clothing was torn, and his hair ruffled beyond any semblance of a style. It was ascertained by Anya, rather gleefully, that the boy was indeed alive ("Oh goody, look he's breathing! You have no idea how bad it is for business when dead bodies keep cropping up in my store!"). He looked like he had literally been tossed around some inter-dimensional portal for a few hours. Perhaps days. Or had the unfortunate chance to have somehow survived severe cyclonic weather and then somehow appeared from nowhere on the table of the Magic Box.

Tara interrupted Anya's capitalist-induced happy-dance. "What are we going to do with him? I mean – he's not a demon, is he?"

Thinking he should really get contact lenses, Giles took off his glasses in order to rub the bridge of his nose. "No, it doesn't appear that way, does it? He looks quite young. I suppose he shall have to stay with one of us," he proposed, gesturing around the assembled Scoobies.

"He's not staying with us. I'm not going to let a teenage boy stand in the way of my many orgasm nights," Anya, as ever, was quick off the mark.

"Ahn, honey-"

"Yes, Xander, I know. You don't like your friends hearing about your sexual prowess. But he's not staying with us!"

Dawn gave her sister a pointed Summers Look.

Buffy cleared her throat. "Willow? Tara? Feel like having a house-guest for a while?"

The two Wicca shared a glance. "It's your house, Buffy. Whatever you want to do is fine with us."

From the boy on the table, a low groan could be heard.


	3. To Run?

**Chapter Three**

**_To Run?_**

Slowly coming into consciousness, Harry could hear voices; something about orgasms!? What kind of place had he ended up in? A meeting for Sex Addicts Anonymous? The voices muffled together again, as he started losing the struggle to clear the fogginess in his head.

"Hey, Buffy? I think he's waking up." Dawn had been studying the boy ever since he had appeared.

Buffy walked over, and stood next to her sister. She frowned. "I wonder who he is, and why he ended up here. I mean, coincidence much?"

Giles circled the table upon which Harry was lying, ignoring – at least for the moment – Buffy's comments. "I think you're right, Dawn. He is regaining consciousness. Could you go and make a cup of tea?"

Grumbling the entire way, Dawn made her way into the back room, annoyed at once again missing out on the action of the moment. "Tea? Something exciting finally happens, and he wants me to make tea! Typical," she snorted.

Giles reached across the table, and shook the boy's shoulder.

"Young man, can you hear me?" he attempted to snap Harry to awareness.

Harry honed in on the voice, using it to guide him to consciousness, like a ship uses a lighthouse beacon to guide it to safety. He wanted to ask where he was, and who _they_ were, but all he could muster was a soft groan.

"That's it, wake up!" said Giles, more forcefully this time, now that he had triggered some kind of response.

Harry pried his eyelids apart. The man shaking him was old no, not really, but remember Harry is only 14. Not geriatric, but definitely not jumping-hurdles-young. With the return of consciousness, Harry became aware that something was not quite right. Last thing he remembered was being in the Dursley's front yard talking to Sirius, and now he was…. _where_ was he exactly? Vaguely recalling that the voices in his unconsciousness didn't sound quite British meant that he definitely wasn't somewhere in England. Sitting up suddenly, his eyes darted around the assembled Scoobies. His eyes strayed to one of the shelves behind them where he could see some kind of skull. It looked human. Harry shuddered. What sort of people keep skulls on their shelves besides those who submit to the dark arts? _It was a trap!_ With a startled cry, he jumped off the table and ran outside, leaving the astonished gang behind.

Giles looked like a startled deer caught in the beam of a car's headlights. "Well that was certainly unexpected!"

"Giles! It's dark and deeply dangerous out there! Plus who knows what kind of head trauma he has!?" Dawn had re-entered the room, just as Harry made his daring dash for the misrepresented freedom of elsewhere. The mug of hot tea was forgotten in her hands.

Already realising this when Harry first bolted for the door, Giles emitted an exasperated sigh. "Yes, Dawn. We know." He gestured to Anya, "Congratulations on taking Anya's title of Miss State the Obvious. You've clearly outstripped her."

Buffy, having drifted to the background during the whole affair, stepped up to the plate, somewhat reluctantly. "Can we get back on track guys? There's a missing kid out there who doesn't know the inherent dangers of this town. He could get killed – or worse. You all know this, and yet you're standing around like you're waiting for some kind of party favour!"

"So we go out and look for him." Everyone stared at Xander. He shrugged. "Made sense to me."

"Or, we could like, do a spell or something, find him doubly fast," Dawns ecstatic mood had dissipated somewhat during the course of the whole fiasco, but with the idea of possible magic-doing in the air, she was nearly back to her previous euphoria.

Tara and Willow shared one of those eye-soul-probe looks that can carry a thousand words and arguments, before Willow sighed, defeated. "I don't think that's such a good idea, Dawnie."

"I doubt it would work all that effectively, anyway, because he's obviously come through some kind of portal, and that really screws with your aura-molecule-thingies. Plus actual magic in the store kind of makes the actual customers freak out, and then they don't come back. Ever." Anya pouted. Anything that interfered with her making money at the Magic Box, or having lots of sex with Xander (not necessarily at the Magic Box) was definitely not a good thing.

"I think I'll have to take Xander's suggestion; Door Number One it is," Buffy suppressed a grimace at her really lame attempt at a joke; her quippage within the gang had been really off lately. "Who's coming with?"


	4. Flight

**Chapter Four**

**_Flight_**

Pottering around his crypt seemed to be the only thing he did lately. All the local demons seemed to be lying pretty low since the slayer had been returned. Spike figured it was the fact that not even death could stop her that had them spooked. Actually, when he stopped and thought about it, it spooked him, too. Admittedly the demons had gone quiet again after Glory – after all, a Slayer who defeated a hell god?? Not someone they wanted to run into in a dark alley. But then the news escaped that it was the Buffy-bot that was running the patrols, and that the slayer was no longer around above ground, and the subsequent havoc had been wreaked. Now, though, Buffy was back. And the demons were running scared. _At least it makes it a little easier for her_, Spike mused. _Between me patrolling, and the decided lack of demons around these parts, it leaves little for her to do but re-acquaint herself with her precious Scoobies._

Spike had continued to take patrol, even after Buffy had returned. He'd seen the haunted look behind her eyes, and figured that the cemetery would be the last place on earth that she would want to visit. None of her friends could understand what she had been through, and even Spike could not grasp the enormity of her entire ordeal; nobody except Spike knew exactly where Buffy had been retrieved from, and he didn't see any of _them_ knowing what it was like to have to scrabble and crawl their way out of their very own buried-six-fee-under coffin after being in heaven. So caught up in the midst of his musings, Spike (somehow) missed the setting of the sun, his cue to leave for patrol. Cursing and muttering - and yes, grumbling a little, too - he grabbed a stake and headed out, slamming his crypt door on the way.

For the last hour or so, Snuffles had been staking out the area where Harry disappeared. Vernon Dursley had come out, and tried to chase him away, muttering something about not wanting stray dogs about to degrade the neighbourhood image. Stray dog, indeed. The thick-necked man seemed not even to notice the lack of Harry. Sirius doubted that he even cared that Harry was missing. Finding nothing, but the slight tingle of magic in the air, Snuffles returned to the house in Grimmauld Place to alert the other members of the Order of the Phoenix of Harry's disappearance. Remember that the order had been re-established over the summer, even though Harry didn't know about it. Dumbledore would not be pleased. Nor for that matter would Mrs Weasley; Harry was like a seventh son to her. Knowing that he would be reprimanded by at least Mrs Weasley and Dumbledore for sneaking out to see Harry did not slow his quickening doggy-trot. Sirius didn't care what happened to him, as long as they found Harry safe, alive, and with all his bits in place.

As the moon peaked out from behind the clouds for a few moments, Sirius knew that something was amiss. Someone, or something had taken Harry. But the problem was, he had seen no other person, heard no other curses or charms that would result in Harry disappearing. Sirius was utterly perplexed. He hoped that the others in the Order would be able to evaluate the situation and come up with more numbers than he currently had.

Harry heard the hard tinkle of the bell as the shop door slammed shut behind him. He looked around wildly, up and down the street, not knowing where to run in the unfamiliar surroundings. Although the town seemed normal enough at a glace, the burning desire to escape and be safe overpowered his capacity for rational thought, and he took off again, down the main street. In the usual Sunnydale fashion, not one single person paid heed to the unkempt, grubby boy with messy hair running through the central business district. People not affected by the Sunnydale Denial Syndrome - of which there were very few - have not yet been able to ascertain whether the residents of the town simply do not see the strange events, or whether they turn a blind eye to the inexplicable.

Turning down an alley, he continued running, not knowing where he was headed, and not particularly caring, either. Faster and faster he ran, turning down this alley, then that one, his thinking becoming more and more erratic. The all-consuming notion that he'd managed to escape from Voldemort's apparent trap empowered Harry to continue running, far exceeding his usual bounds of energy. Looking behind himself every three seconds, expecting to see robes and masks at any juncture, Harry totally missed the action going on just around the corner. That is, until he ran straight smack-bang into the middle of it.


	5. Belt of Orion

**Chapter Five**

**_Belt of Orion_**

Harry started, not sure what he had stumbled on to, or _in_to as the case may be. He stood stock still, taking in the scene before him, not knowing whether it was best to back away slowly with his wand cautiously raised, or to run away at top speed. Again. The creatures were not taking any notice of his intrusion, so he took neither course of action, and instead continued to watch them in wide-eyed fascination for a few seconds.

"Out of the way, Junior," one of the animals roared as he tumbled by, locked in fisticuffs with another. His bleached hair stood out like a glowing beacon in the moonlight, against the shadows of the alleyway. From what Harry could see, it was this one creature against four or five others - it was hard to get a head count, and he could swear that he just saw one crumble away into nothing. The bleached wonder threw an abandoned crate at one of the awesome foursome, who ducked, and the crate went crashing over his back, nearly smashing Harry's head to smithereens. Harry reached up to check that his head was still in fact in one piece and attached to his neck and shoulders.

The fight moved closer to where Harry was lingering, and he didn't want to accidentally get involved in a fistfight. Wandless defence wasn't a studiable option at Hogwarts. The larger animal that the bleached one was currently engaged with flashed his face full of fangs towards Harry, who dropped to the ground in fright before scrambling backwards towards the safety of the wall. Or so he thought. Not able to contain all the creatures he was fighting, Spike didn't notice one steal away towards the wall where the boy was hiding.

"Well, lookie here. Looks like I've found myself some dinner," the creature leered, licking his lips at the potential delicacy. Harry shuddered, caught between horror and disgust; both were fairly equal on the emotion-meter. He crouched in terror, waiting for the inevitable. Sooner or later, it seemed he would once again be in the clutches of the dark lord. Evil creatures like the one before him often served the powerful wizard. No matter where he was -- even in muggle-England -- he was not safe, and now wherever it was that he had ended up, he was, once again, in danger. He must be cursed.

"….and of course Door Number One was such a good plan," Buffy groused softly as she found herself wandering the streets of Sunnydale once again. So much for her night off with potential for Bronze-age. Not that she had necessarily wanted to get her groove on at the club, but it was the principle of the thing. Typical Sunnydale interrupting her maybe-plans for fun-filled entertainment. Only on the hellmouth -- or _a_ hellmouth in point of fact. Unless it was less hellmouthy, and more Buffy's-usual-life related. She shrugged. Either way it meant no Bronze. Instead of dancing the night away into the wee hours with her friends, Buffy was duty-bound to search the town alone. The usual band of Scoobies had decided to split up in order to cover more ground, and find the missing mystery-boy sooner. As she walked around the industrial zone of the town, Buffy idly twirled her stake, not really concentrating on what was going on in her immediate surroundings. Fingers crossed that nothing icky was actually out and about tonight; if there was, the slayer undoubtedly had a high chance of becoming its next victim.

The sound of laughter and giggling was incongruous with the dark, gloomy space. It wasn't even space as such; there was nothing there, like a void of existence. Kind of like non-space. No walls, no floor, no roof, no ceiling. Absolutely nothing. Yet somehow Alche sat perched on the edge of her seat, avidly watching the events in Sunnydale play out before her in a crystal ball. Very clichéd, but she liked the stereotype. If you played the part of a stereotype, people on Earth paid you little attention. You were just another crackpot wannabe. Alongside her sat her superior, another demon as eager to wreak havoc and vengeance in the earthly realm. Every so often, when something was to his pleasing, he would nudge Alche, point at the globe and chuckle gleefully, like a small child on Christmas morning. Everything was going perfectly to plan.


	6. Discontent Amongst the Troops

**Chapter Six**

**_Discontent Amongst the Troops_**

The air hummed with excitement and anticipation. Anya glanced over at her fiancé, and smothered a grin. Here he was, animatedly replaying the events of last night's patrol to Willow, right down to the over-dramatic vampire who had made his death scene linger beyond the realm of tasteful.

"You know, Xander, it makes it funnier if you tell her what _you_ were doing during all this," she snickered. That was one of the things that made her love Xander so much. The fact that no matter how scared he was, he was always right where the battle was at, even if it was hiding beyond a tombstone. Xander's happy mood was suddenly replaced by a sullen scowl, and Willow affected a rather disappointed-looking pout because her night's entertainment had been stolen away.

"C'mon Xand, it's not like we haven't seen you hide before. Self-preservation is a very good virtue to have. Especially when said self is in danger of being chomped on by a big nasty vampire!" Not able to hold in her mirth, the laughter bubbled forth. "Sorry Xander, but you should see your face right now!"

During Willow's attempt at downgrading his cowardice, Xander had started to cheer up a little. Until she started mocking him as well. His scowl reappeared, goofy grin banished to the recesses of his now non-existent good cheer. Some things just weren't fair. Willow was his bestest friend of all time, since before kindergarten. She should be standing up for him, not joining in the Let's Make Fun of Xander carnival of not-fun that was Anya lately. It seemed like that was all she did lately. Maybe he was becoming more laughable at as the others all progressed past the days of high school and into adulthood. Sure it had been two years, and neither Buffy nor Anya were at college, but Anya had moved into retail, and had co-built a nice little enterprise out of the Magic Box. And Buffy. Well, she _had_ just come back from unknown eons of torture in a hell-dimension, so her failings at managing the Summers' household at the moment were totally understandable. What excuse did he have? Of course, he had the construction crew pretty much under his command, but where did that leave a guy? Construction was only good if there were things to construct. Or reconstruct as the case may be.

Rounding the corner, they came across one of the alleyways that led into the labyrinth that was the Sunnydale industrial zone. In the hour since they had split from Buffy at the Magic Box to search for the missing boy, they had come up with nothing. Nada. Zip, zilch, zero. The cemeteries were void of life, including the undead variety. It was eerie that no one was about. The earlier tension still hung in the air, almost corporeal in its tangibility.

Willow paused, always cautious before heading down a dark dank alley on this side of town. Well, _any_ side of town, actually. She cocked her head to the side, quite comically, looking a little like a lost cocker spaniel.

"Do you hear that?" she whispered.

"Hear what?" Xander peered into the darkness, trying to see what he was supposed to be hearing. There was nothing but inky darkness that fell away from the circle of dull yellow light from streetlight situated at the alleyway entrance.

"I don't know… I can hear a scuffle, or a fight or something, but Buffy's not patrolling this part of town." Intense concentration marred Willow's pixie-like features, before sudden delight pushed aside the clouds. It was if she had suddenly discovered the meaning of life, or some other great mystery that has plagued mankind for millennia.

"It's nothing dangerous. At least not to us," she smiled happily. She turned to the other two, ready to explain.

"So who is it?" Anya butted in before Willow had a chance to continue. Willow paused, mouth poised ready to speak. She closed it, and did a really good impression of a fish, opening and closing her mouth a few times more.

"Well?" Anya prompted.

"Oh! It's Spike. He's cornered a small nest of vampires in the alley a few streets over." Willow's witchy-ways had now extended beyond some people's comprehension; beyond some of her friend's comprehension. She could now scan a person's mind, to see what they were thinking, not just what people were thinking at her in telepathic conversation.

Xander grimaced. "Oh great, the Bleached Wonder. That just tops my night right off. Not only do I have the threat from Giles of having some underage minor staying in my house interrupting my normal nocturnal habits, but now we have to deal with _him_! Great! Terrific, even," and with that, he stormed off in the other direction, assumedly towards home.

"Now look at what you've done!" Anya glared at Willow before hurrying after her soon-to-be husband.

Willow looked after them in shocked surprise. "What did _I_ do? All I did was tell them it was safe to continue down the alley because it was only Spike and not some nasty Big Bad that I could hear!"


	7. In Her We Trust

**Chapter Seven**

**_In Her We Trust_**

Harry crouched in fear, terror overriding any ideas of self-defense that he may have had. He had never seen anything like these creatures before, and now there was one towering over him, looking to make him dinner! He didn't know what to do- this creature was not a werewolf, or a boggart, or any of the other magical creatures they had covered in DADA. He doubted if a _patronus_ would do anything but make the monster curious and more likely to pay closer attention to Harry. While it thought he was a helpless little boy, and not a wizard who could - if he got over his debilitating terror - hex him to next week's Sunday, things were in Harry's favour.

Harry looked up at the ridges of the animal's face. The bones around the forehead region were more pronounced, the mouth filled with sharp dangerous-looking fangs, saliva beginning to pool around the edges of the monster's mouth….. ah, who was he kidding? Those fangs weren't dangerous _looking_; they _were_ dangerous! Point of fact, he'd better start searching for a way to escape; there was no chance that he was going to end up victim to one of Voldemort's dark creatures without putting up a fight!

Meanwhile, back at the ranch…. er, sorry, back in middle of the action-filled alley…. that was not so filled with action any longer, Spike smugly staked the last of the vampires surrounding him. Absorbed as he was in the midst of the fighting, Spike had not spared a second thought to the teenage boy who had unexpectedly run into the alleyway. Having staked a total of four vampires, and not seeing the fifth, he glanced around warily. It was not like a newly risen fledgling to back away from trying to stake a master vamp; it ups one's street-cred after all. He wildly whipped his head one way, then the other, trying to see what trap had been laid in place for him. Seeing none apparent, he strained his ears, listening for some kind of noise or movement that would betray the vampire's whereabouts. Instead, he heard the erratic heartbeat that spelled fear with every pump of blood.

"Oh, bugger!" he cursed. Buffy was going to kill him. Leaving an innocent teenage boy to fend for himself in favour of a bloody fight was not on the list of Buffy- (or Scooby, for that matter) Approved activities. Not that she'd been doing much approving or disapproving lately, with her return from heaven, but that was beside the point entirely. Spike could understood her need to keep her heavenly expedition from the gang, but was just waiting for the day it would somehow blow up in her face, or come around and bite her on the bum. He just knew that day would come, and cause a whole lot more pain and guilt than initial honestly would have. Then again, it wasn't as if the Slayer would take his advice now, was it? Wishing to avoid Buffy's fists in contact with his poor nose, Spike mustered up a burst of second-wind energy, allowing him to half-jog towards where he sensed the furiously pounding heart. He suddenly figured out where that extra pesky vampire had ended up. Increasing his pace, he realised exactly how far down the alley the fight had taken him, and how far away from the boy. But with Spike on the case, there was no chance the vampire was going to make that boy his dinner. Not tonight, not ever; sooner or later, that vamp was dust.

Picking up her pace, Willow rounded the corner, expecting to see Spike in the throes of kicking some unsuspecting demon's ass. Boy, did she have that scenario wrong. The stakes had changed since she had probed his mind, a bare minute earlier, and now it was his ass that was on the line. Whispering a few words, and accompanying them with a gesture of her hand, the attacking vampire was soon flung away into the pile of rubbish bins that were lined up against the alley wall. Spike gave her his usual cocky half-grin, taken at face value to mean that he had control of the situation. Only his eyes gave him away, expressing his thanks for the butt save-age, even if he never vocalized it.

"What brings you out to this side of town, Red?" Spike wondered, curiously, before dispatching the unconscious vampire. No chance of it regaining its senses and attacking all three of them unawares now. _Good_.

Willow waved her arms around in her usual nervous manner. "Oh, you know. The usual. Suddenly-appearing-out-of-nowhere Boy who soon became Missing Boy, and the search party for said boy," she explained, not entirely clearly if one was not already in the know. Which Spike wasn't.

"Wanna try that again, Witch?"

While Willow explained again, using a good many more words this time, Harry's mind was racing. _Witch?_ _This girl was a witch? But she hadn't used a wand..._ Harry was completely and utterly confused. No witch or wizard existed that could perform wandless magic, except for accidental magic, but that could not be focused into a spell. Could it? Apparently it could, for here was this girl. This redheaded girl with an American accent…. this was one of the people from that dark-magic place he had escaped from. _Great_! He thought. He had managed to escape and ran into someone who could possibly defend him, and it turned out they were in league together. Except the blonde man did not seem to know anything of his existence. That was certainly odd.

"So you're saying this boy just appeared out of nowhere onto the table in the Magic Box? And you weren't thinking that he was some kind of threat from the latest Big Bad?" Spike was truly incredulous. Surely it was a sign of impending doom, people appearing from nowhere. It wasn't right.

Harry's eyes widened. _Magic Box? A magic shop? That didn't sound truly evil, did it?_ Harry tried to console himself. _But that doesn't explain the skull. Perhaps it was a dark-magic magic shop,_ he countered in his mind.

Willow squirmed uncomfortably. She shouldn't feel obliged to answer to the vampire, but something in his countenance made her _want _to answer. "We did think! But he's just a boy. An unarmed, uninformed-on-the-dangers-of-Sunnydale teenage boy out all alone after dark!" she was getting riled up, reacting to his trademark smirk. Granted, she knew he usually only smirked annoy people, but this was not the time for antagonizing her; the boy needed to be found. She promptly said so.

Indicating Harry's hiding place, Spike raised his eyebrows. "You mean this boy?" his smirk grew, if that were even possible. Harry knew the game was up. He stood slowly, still slightly nervous and unsure as to their intentions concerning him.

"Uh, hi," he gave a little wave. His eyes darted past the two, calculating how possible it would be for him to get past them.

"I don't think so, mate," Spike grabbed for him before Harry even positioned himself for flight. "It's time for a little group chat, don't you think?" Spike addressed himself to Willow.

Willow narrowed her eyes at Harry; she just knew that he would probably try something again, at some stage during the evening. He looked back at her, defiantly, but his eyes betrayed his true emotion: fear. Satisfied that he was only acting out of self-preservation, and not some sinister plan, she nodded. A chat would be a good idea. A very good idea, indeed.


	8. Brooding Practice

**Chapter Eight**

_**Brooding Practice**_

The large black shaggy dog that had been sole witness to Harry's disappearance finally arrived at his destination. If only the Ministry hadn't been keeping such a strict eye on the energy emissions indicative of apparation; it would have made what seemed like a very long trip much shorter. Although dreading the reaction of the other residents of the house (particularly Mrs Weasley), Sirius knew that in order to find Harry - and soon - the others would need to be informed. Surely Dumbledore would know what had happened! Sirius stopped outside Number Twelve, and cocked his head to the side, thinking desperately. What could have made Harry just disappear like that? He didn't know how to apparate, plus he was underage - it simply made no sense at all. Sirius didn't like it when things made no sense, especially when it concerned Harry and his vanishing act. Sirius could think of no explanation. It couldn't have been Death Eaters, for surely he would have been taken as well. Since Pettigrew's return to the Dark Lord, it was probable that the rat-bastard had informed Voldemort of Sirius's animagus form. Not just probable - more likely assured. Sirius shuddered at the thought. If dark wizards had had nothing to do with Harry's disappearance, then who had? There were simply no answers to all these questions, and Sirius knew that the Order would produce yet more answer-less questions.

If it were at all possible for dogs to do so, it would have appeared that the large dog standing in front of the row of houses in Grimmauld Place slumped his shoulders in resignation. But, being a dog, of course that was not at all possible.

Sirius reluctantly took a step towards the hidden door of Number Twelve. Time to face the firing squad.

"So, what you're saying, _Black,_" Sirius doubted that Severus Snape could add any more disdain and hate into that one word. He had been the first - well, actually the second person after Mrs Weasley to jump on the It's All Your Fault Bandwagon after he had told the Order that Harry had been taken by something unknown. "What you're saying is that you've _lost_ Potter. Wonderful!" Snape tossed his arms in the air in a gesture of helplessness. He knew that the only chance of defeating Voldemort this time around was Harry himself, and now that chance's whereabouts were unknown.

"Calm down, Severus," Dumbledore stepped in before Snape could dismember Sirius. He had been acting the peacemaker for the last ten minutes. He too knew the significance of Harry's disappearance to the cause, but he had also lived a great many years longer than any other member of the Order. "I assure you it was mere coincidence that Sirius was present to witness Harry's disappearance," he added. Dumbledore looked at Harry's godfather then for the first time that evening, gauging his sincerity, Sirius supposed. He maintained eye contact, and the wizened old wizard looked away, apparently satisfied at what he had found.

Mrs Weasley looked up from where she was wringing her hands in dispair, "But what are we going to _do_? We don't know what's been done to the poor boy," she insisted. The fiery redhead had been all for staking out the scene of the crime, and searching for magical emissions, but had been shot down by the others. Too conspicuous, they said, a gaggle of wizards and witches gathered around one place pointing, whispering and staring. They didn't need the exposure, not now.

It was then that Dumbledore stood and exerted his authority for the first time that evening. "I think it is time we visited with our pillows, hmm?" And with that, he headed towards the front entrance. "I feel this situation warrants consultation with the past Headmasters of Hogwarts," he mused, stroking his beard thoughtfully. "Perhaps they can shed some light on this perplexing quandary." He strode out the door, and into the night. He would not be seen again tonight.

Sirius' shoulder's sagged as he flopped into an armchair. He would be getting no sleep tonight no matter how long he and his pillow acquainted themselves.

Molly Weasley busied about, tidying up their mess from supper earlier, and hurrying everyone off to their beds. She paused on her way up, debating whether to disturb the distraught man slumped in the armchair, finally deciding against it. _Leave him to his brooding, _she thought_. He could use it. Might stop him from going against orders next time._ She sighed tiredly as she climbed the stairs. It had been one long night.

Buffy had patrolled the factories and wharves rather aimlessly the past hour. It didn't help that her conscience was berating her every other second for not being more attentive. She _knew_ the boy was out here alone and undefended. It wasn't as if she hadn't seen him run out of the shop earlier that evening. But tonight, she just couldn't seem to motivate her limbs to work more energetically. It was just one of those days... or nights as the case may be. They seemed to occur more often now, after her return, than they ever had before Glory. Perhaps it was yet another one of the perks of being ripped out of heaven and reinstated on earth. She'd ask Giles... but then he'd know that she really hadn't been in some hell-dimension, and he'd probably tell the others in remonstration for their actions in bringing her back. Not a Good Thing, she decided. She'd deal, somehow. She always did.

Having seen neither head nor tail of anything even remotely demonic, Buffy decided to end her fruitless search for the boy and head back to the Magic Box, hoping that one of the others had had more luck. She doubted the young boy would have headed towards the industrial zone anyway, there were many much more appealing places to run off to. She wondered if Spike had come across him, not that it would have done any good if he had, as the vampire knew nothing of the boy's existence. For some odd reason, Spike had accepted her need for some space from him the last couple of days. She didn't understand why now, and not any of the times she had asked last year when it became apparent where his affections lay. Mentally, she shrugged. It was not up to her to have to understand what went on in his brain. She doubted anyone but the bleached wonder himself knew what thoughts were running around inside his head. Some of the snarks he came out with, well, sometimes she has to wonder if constant use of hair bleaching products had addled his brain. Buffy sighed. It was no use. No matter how much she tried to deny it, she missed Spike's company. Since she had come back, he had made no demands for her affections, instead just letting her set the atmosphere and interaction between them. Not like the rest of her friends. It was as if they just expected her to be back to chirpy Let's-Save-The-World-Again Buffy, since it'd been more than a month since she'd come back. If only they knew.

As she walked up the last stretch of the main street, Buffy subconsciously scuffed her boots along the footpath. Reaching her destination, she paused for a moment outside the entrance. Shaking off her melancholy thoughts, Buffy plastered a fake all-is-great-in-the-world smile on her face, and entered the Magic Box.


	9. Regrouping

**Chapter Nine**

**_Regrouping_**

Giles was cleaning his spectacles. Again. A sure sign that something was not right. Well, duh, thought Dawn. Around here there was always something gone – or in the process of going – wrong. Gnawing at her lower lip Dawn mulled over the evening's events so far. She knew that Giles was distressed about the boy who had rejected their hospitality. Well, actually they hadn't even got to the hospitality part yet when he had bolted. The thing that prevented Dawn from voicing her inner dialogue was that odd clucking noise Giles made when he was upset or angry. That he was making right now and had been for nearly the last hour. No one dared interrupt once the cluck was underway. The others had been gone for over half an hour and Dawn doubted that Giles could be strung any higher. Tara was barely containing herself to stay seated; she figured another pacing figure would not be at all productive to the cause. Her own frayed nerves were not making the atmosphere any more pleasant. It took a concentrated effort for her to relax her tensed shoulders.

Sighing, Dawn made her way to the back of the store to make another pot of tea – anything to keep her hands and mind occupied until the gang arrived back. Conversation had been severely lacking between the three Magic Box bound Scoobies. Giles was clucking; that would do it for anyone. Cursing the kettle for taking so long, she began to pace back and forth. _Nothing normal ever happens to me. Can't meet a nice boy who isn't somehow tied up in the supernatural. Do they even exist? God I hope that one of them finds him! He looked so terrified like we were monsters or something... Maybe he's an alien_. Dawn chuckled at the idea. Like that'd be true. So caught up in her own thoughts she missed the entrance of the first returning members of the search and rescue party.

"…. of me not fighting, then she goes and tells us that bleach head is just arou-"

"Do you think we might hear the story with a tad less personal bias, Xander?" Giles intervened. Although he might not be Spike's most loyal fan, he did believe the vampire had some credit due. Also that Xander was not the bravest of the Scoobies. Anya gave Giles one of those looks, where if she were still demon, it would have been wise to flee from her wrath.

"It's not like he doesn't have a point, Giles. Willow wasn't being at all tactful. Xander knows that _I _find his cowardice endearing. In fact, when he does that high-pitched womanly screa-"

"An! So not the place," Xander put his hand over her mouth, a vain attempt to stifle the embarrassing details of their sex lives. Not like his friends hadn't heard worse before, though. Xander exhaled a deep sigh. "Ok, so after Insult Xander Time was over, Willow heard a fight, and sensed that it was Spike. I guess she went to help him, or something."

Concern for the red-head marred Giles' features. He placed a reassuring hand on Tara's shoulder. "She's not with you?"

"Well, you see, G-man, it's like this: she was heading towards Spike, so it's not like she's all alone, or in danger... or anything..." Xander trailed off, squirming, under the reproachful eye of his friend and mentor. It wasn't as if Willow didn't know what kind of creepy crawlies were out in Sunnydale at night, or that she was unarmed. She had her magic. And Spike. Where did that come from? Xander barely suppressed a shudder at that unbidden thought. Spike as a weapon? As protection? _Figures_, Xander sniggered. _Spike the anti-hero gets to be the saviour of all. I bet he'd like that – goes against everything he thinks he stands for._ Sufficiently cheered up, the Xan-man went out back to see what kind of mess Dawn had managed to get herself into while they were gone.

On the other side of the door, Buffy was just raising her arm to twist the doorknob. She paused, not hearing the cacophony of voices that would indicate the reunification of all the Scoobies. _The others mustn't be back yet_, she thought; it was bitter sweet at best. But it left her time to settle herself in a quiet corner before her friends were there to see it and question her as to why she wasn't parading out front taking charge. Why they didn't just leave her alone, she didn't know. They weren't this persistent about probing for her motives for... anything... before. She just didn't get it.

Realising she'd been standing staring at the door for a solid five minutes, Buffy shook the melancholy thoughts from her consciousness. She opened the door, and stepped inside, shocked to see only Anya and Giles around the table. Her mind's curiosity regarding Dawn and Xander was soon answered, however, when the giggling duo came out from the training room carrying a tray of tea and biscuits.

Seeing her sister, Dawn's face fell. The vibrant mood of the last five minutes with Xander was sure to disperse any second now. "I guess I'll go get another cup, then," she said sullenly.

Buffy's sigh was unilaterally shared by the others. None of them knew for certain what Dawn was in such a snit over with her sister; they doubted even Dawn herself knew. It was just one of those things. Her sister arrived (whether it was home, the Bronze... the Magic Box...), and all of a sudden Dawn was a textbook case of teenage attitude. But then sometimes, like this afternoon, everything was fine, and the sisters even managed to share a small joke, or a smile. Maybe it was Dawn. Maybe it was Buffy. Maybe it was just this thing called Life.

Being escorted was something Harry decided he didn't like. He could feel the power emanating from both his bodyguards, and it scared him. He still didn't know if they were on Evil's side. He knew they fought dark creatures, but that didn't necessarily make them Defenders of Good. So to speak. Harry doubted whether there was a band of merry men (and/or women) fighting the good fight with such a tacky name.

He glanced up at Red – or maybe he should be calling her Witch? Or Red Witch? Maybe he'd landed in some magical other-world where Red-Witch was a title of some kind. Inwardly he shrugged. Who knew? It wasn't as if he was going to show his ignorance by asking the fearsome warriors flanking him. The expression on the red-headed witch's was akin to some odd combination of concern, annoyance and wariness. It was not something he'd seen on any one person at any one time before, yet it seemed accustomed to the young woman's face, as if it had resided there on more than one occasion.

Despite his lack of height, Harry's other guardian simply radiated power and rage barely kept in check behind a calm façade. Harry could swear that the man's eyes were continually alternating between the brightest blue he had ever seen and the amber colour he'd seen in the eyes of the monsters from the alleyway. And he was certain that he heard the man growl a few times, but he couldn't be sure with the occasional sounds of engines roaring past in the distance. It was a kind of low animalistic growl, so that sorta made Harry want to lean away from the car explanation. And the man looked a heck of a lot like the monster from the ally, the one that had been fighting against all the others. Strange, because it wasn't even a full moon tonight.

The blonde man finally gave into temptation and looked down at the boy. He had felt the boy's eyes on him for the last few minutes, and it was starting to grate on his nerves. Giving a short growl, Spike smirked at the almost imperceptible jump the boy gave in return. The boy seemed annoyed at his reaction, and that made Spike's smirk deepen.

Ah yes, he still had it.


	10. Conspiracy Theorising

**Chapter Ten**

**_Conspiracy Theorising_**

The trio rounded the last corner and headed up the main street of Sunnydale towards the centre of slayer operations. From here, they could see that the store had is customary 'closed' sign in place. Spike wondered how Giles had stayed in business, with the frequency that the shop was closed for research purposes. But then, if stocked adequately, a magical supply store could be a lucrative venture. It was all about location, and with Sunnydale being on the hellmouth….. you get the picture. At least this store wasn't as kooky as some of the others in Sunnydale; sometimes they simply reeked of dark mojo.

Harry was not happy to be heading back to the place where he had wakened, but guarded as he was, there was not a lot he could do about the situation. Of course, he could always use his wand. That is, he could use his wand if he wanted to run the risk of being cautioned with improper use of underage magic. Again. He doubted that he would get off as lightly as he had with the Aunt Marge incident, or the floating pudding – which technically wasn't his fault, but try explaining that to the Ministry! As these two had not yet attempted to kill or maim him, the range of factors indicating a potential life-death situation was not sufficient enough to mount a defence. Life was seriously unfair. Look at what had happened so far... and that's not including his life prior to Hogwarts!

Harry doubted that things could have gone any worse. Now, not only was he not at Hogwarts or the Burrow, he was in some unknown place, where the people spoke strangely and had skulls in their stores but (so far) were not trying to kill him. Somehow, he had ended up in a parallel universe or some such science fiction. He didn't know how it was possible, or if it even was… perhaps he was simply having an extremely vivid dream; it wasn't like he'd never had one before.

Harry knew that they were going to have questions. Questions that he couldn't answer, either by lack of knowledge, or because it could land him in serious trouble with the Ministry. Without revealing the world of magic, Harry came up blank as to how to explain why he couldn't just hop on a plane to go home. Although, working in a magic shop, those people may not all be muggles. After all, the red head who was currently one of his escorts had been called a witch. So maybe he had stumbled into a small wizarding community by some stroke of fortune. And they sounded non-British (he couldn't place the specific accent), so perhaps that is why they didn't know who he was straight away. Also, it could be the fact that he scarpered off as soon as he was able, and didn't give them half a chance to see his scar. All in all, Harry doubted it was a good idea to go spilling his guts to strangers. Who knew where their exact loyalties lay?

Inside, Buffy was having a similar self-discussion. How could she explain the hows and the whys of his sudden appearance without giving away the slayer/witch/vampire/key gig? It sure was complicated. And what if he'd seen a vampire while he was running wild around the streets of Sunnydale? He was definitely an out-of-towner. Sunnydale Denial was quite unlikely to take effect. That made things much more difficult. If it was a Sunnydale resident, she could use the law enforcement line: "Gangs on PCP" and said resident would probably believe her. She doubted the same line would be swallowed by this boy. Maybe she should think about the mental-institution-escapee explanation. That one allowed for a lot of supernatural cover-up. Buffy was not in the mood for this. She wished (though obviously not aloud!), that the others would find the boy soon so she could go home and lie in bed, staring at the ceiling. Not sleep, because when she closed her eyes... that's when the nightmares came. More often than not, accompanied by that feeling of suffocation... of abject terror... of pain.

Almost as if some telepathic wish-granting demon had heard her silent plea, Spike, Willow and the dark haired boy walked through the door, cheerily jingling the bell as they went. That bell was evil, Buffy decided. Nothing was supposed to be that cheery twenty-four/seven!

Harry stopped just inside the door. No way was he getting any closer from the exit until he had some assurance that he was not going to become fish-food of some variety. Figuratively speaking, because he didn't expect to be fed to any fish; but the sentiment was there. He wasn't going to trust these people until they gave him reason to. From where he was standing, they didn't look very threatening, sitting around a small table drinking tea. In fact, the entire setting looked very inviting. These were people who were comfortable with each other. Family.

He took a deep breath, and slowly expelled it, trying to think brave thoughts; fortune favours the brave, after all. Time to get this baby on the road. Flying by the seat of his pants, Harry stepped down into the main area of the shop. He stepped past his former companions, approaching who he thought may be a fellow Briton, if the smell of Bovril in his tea cup was anything to go by. That stuff could be smelt a mile and a half away.

Harry stepped up to the table, and shuffled his feet. "Erm," his face was flushed with embarrassment already. What were these people going to think of him, running out like that? Only one way to find out, he supposed. He stuck out his hand in an awkward gesture of a handshake. "I'm Harry. Sorry about before, I'm a bit skittish uhh- around da- the occult," he stumbled over his words. Way to cover up. Dark arts indeed! That would have been just a _teeny_ bit of a giveaway.


	11. God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen

**Chapter Eleven**

**_God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen_**

"It's a conspiracy! It has to be – nothing else can explain it!" Sirius Black was adamant. His godson had disappeared without apparent cause and he was left scraping the bottom of the proverbial barrel. For the others assembled that did not share the distraught man's obstinacy, there were still several possible avenues of explanation available. _Possible_, but not probable. But, sometimes the only plausible thing is the most improbable. Albus Dumbledore was discounting nothing. Unlike his former student, Dumbledore had managed to maintain a calm head, despite the distressing circumstances. At every outburst, the white-bearded wizard would catch the eye of the others present, a definite twinkle in his eye. One would almost think that he found the situation amusing, if it weren't so dire. So far, the entire morning had been spent throwing opinions and theories back and forth, attempting to find reason where there was none.

Arthur and Molly Weasley favoured the idea that Voldemort had somehow transported Harry away by an inconspicuous portkey, despite the protection placed around the boy by Dumbledore himself. That would explain how he suddenly disappeared, and why there was no evidence – the portkey is transported with the traveller to the other location. Dispelling that theory, however, were both Dumbledore and Sirius. They shot it down before it had even grown the necessary wings to fly. It was impossible for Voldemort or his followers to be that close to Harry's house and its protections without at least one of the wards alerting the Order; also Harry had not been holding anything when he had disappeared.

Sirius' thoughts were all a jumble. He didn't know what to think now. At first, Sirius had the notion that Harry had somehow managed to apparate himself, before figuring that Harry would have either a) told him what he was doing, and b) would not have wanted to draw that much attention to himself if he was planning on running away. The ministry has always kept a sharp eye on apparition, as Sirius very well knew. And besides, with underage wizards (or witches) in the mix, the risk of splinching was heightened; Sirius doubted that Harry would place himself in that kind of danger for fun.

Albus Dumbledore had a few theories of his own that he was quietly mulling over while the debate was occurring. He knew of spells and curses that could transport a person to another location, making it seem like they had disappeared. With Sirius' testimony though, Dumbledore could not find all the missing pieces. Those spells required the castor to be present at the time of the event, and for an incantation to be voiced; Sirius had seen and heard no one besides Harry and himself. The wizened old headmaster was nearing the end of his exhaustive resources, and almost considered asking Dobby whether the devoted house-elf had tried to protect Harry again!

So far, only one member of the Order had refrained from offering any suggestions. The scowl had been permanently affixed to Severus Snape's features all morning. Perhaps he did not agree with all the attention that Harry Potter was receiving, even in his absence. Who could tell? Yet Snape was the only one, besides Dumbledore, who could come close to knowing the full extent of the boy's importance to the cause. The former Death Eater had been a part of the inner circle in the last battle against Voldemort, and was near to it in the current war, hence his own importance to Dumbledore. It did not take long for the indecisiveness of the Order to irritate him beyond endurance; it would be different if they had decided on some course of action, even if an explanation was not yet forthcoming. Snape let out a sigh of pure unadulterated disdain, and with a dramatic flare of his robes, he strode from the room.

Suppressed rage and anxiety are a bad combination at any time; it's worse when there becomes an available outlet.

"Typical!" Sirius snorted in disgust. "Anything to do with Harry for any length of time and he's the first to bail ou-"

"I fear," Dumbledore cut him off before Sirius could produce a fully-fledged rant. "That our dillydallying has caused us the loss of any potential leads to Harry's whereabouts for the moment." The elderly man stifled a sigh. Suddenly he seemed as old as he undoubtedly was. However, it was unlike the wizard to dwell on such matters for long; the twinkle reappeared in his eyes as his mind moved onto other possibilities. "Chocolate frog, anyone?"

/\/\/\

Lord Voldemort, a.k.a. the Dark Lord, or You-Know-Who, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and assorted other titles, was incredibly pleased with himself. He sat back and cackled mercilessly, almost certifiably. It was maniacal. No sooner had he calmed himself, than he glanced at the package in front of him and began once more. It was perfect. Too perfect. In no way could any of this be traced back to him. The two worlds did not interact, in fact he doubted they even knew of each other's existence. Now there was nothing to stop him. That blasted boy was out of the way; nothing would stand in his way. He turned in his chair, to beckon Wormtail (the traitor!) to do his bidding. Instead stood one of his most loyal servants, filling the entire archway with his tall lanky frame and greasy hair. Well, he _used_ to be one of his most loyal servants. Voldemort was definitely questioning Severus' devotion. It took the potion's master just a little too long each time to respond to Voldemort's summoning. Especially this last time.

The mirth died on the Dark Lord's lips as if a light had been switched off. Now he did not seem even remotely human – insane or otherwise.

"Nice to see you could fit us into your schedule, Seversus," he spat.

"I beg your pardon, M'lord. I was unavoidably detained in a meeting with the Headmaster. I could not leave without arousing suspicions," Severus bowed his head, begging penance upon bended knee. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named favoured fealty of such sycophantic nature.

Lord Voldemort growled low in his throat, an animalistic sound no human could ever reproduce. "He foils our every move one way or another. He comes only second to that boy," the less-than-human wizard gathered up every inch of disdain and hatred and disgust he felt. "_Potter!_"

Snape tensed. Perhaps Voldemort _did_ know something after all. But no more was forthcoming. After several moments of Voldemort studying him most intensely, Severus broke the unfilled silence. If in doubt, offer one's services to the Dark Lord. It hadn't failed him yet. "My Lord, what is it you desire for me to do?"


	12. RAGE! not an update

Loyal Readers

Heads up. I thank those who have read and reviewed this fic since its inception and during its loooooong hiatus. I plan to get back into writing. That said, I also plan to complete most of the story before I begin posting updates. Keep an eye out!

Shezz

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**Now for some RAGE!!!**

I just wanted to share with you the stupidity and baseness of some readers (one in particular).

I must admire how the language choices made in the following review make for a wonderful discussion regarding the discourse of fan-fiction readers. And the spelling and punctuation. Oh dear. Somebody didn't pay attention in the first grade. I almost feel like printing it out and correcting it in red pen! Honestly!

Perhaps this person does not understand the commitments placed upon people who are studying full time at university while also working 30+ hours each week (as I was at the time of writing this fic. Now, I work full time, and am at school from 8:00am until at least 5pm every night. I only get paid for five of those hours per day). I should also point out that when using such language, all it does is make me think something akin to: _What an uneducated person - they are not even able to express themselves in Standard English_.

There is also such a phenomenon as _constructive feedback_. I don't believe in the slightest that my fanfic is anything to write home about. However, in order to improve one's writing, it is very helpful if reviewers actually offered feedback of a constructive nature. Instead of saying the chapter was "way too short" with nothing further, this reviewer could have continued with something similar to, "it would help if you fleshed out your character moments more," or perhaps "try describing what's going on, or what people are saying instead of having as much dialogue," or whatever the case may be.

And so, I submit to you that lovely review that sparked my ire (edited, so that it will actually allow me to post it – all words in the original review were in full). I can also say that it has since been deleted. No review that includes language of a profane nature or is entirely unhelpful will be left on my review board.

'Nuff said, don't you think?

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siengn  
2005-09-30  
ch 12, anon. 

You lying fck!! you last chapter sucked d!ck. It was way too short and you dont even bother to up date.

Stupid a$$hole, you mother fcker. you should stop writing if your a lazy as basterd.

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In fact, I will correct it. Siengn, the correct way to punctuate and spell your review is as follows. Please note the correct capitalisation and use of apostrophes. . In order to do this, I have had to do a little creative editing, so by placing a 'u' between the 'f' and the 'ck', replacing the ! with 'i', and the $ with 's', you will have the correct spelling.

I pity you, Siengn, that you feel the need to revert to such profanity, because it obviously means that you don't have the intelligence or language skills to express yourself in a more appropriate manner

**THE REVIEW (my comments)**

_You lying fck!! _

**-- What have I lied about? **

_Your last chapter sucked d!ck. _

**-- How did it suck? Why did it suck? What sucked about it?**

_It was way too short and you don't even bother to update._

**-- Again, see the offering above regarding CONSTRUCTIVE FEEDBACK and OTHER COMMITMENTS.**

_Stupid a$$hole, you motherfcker. _

**-- This was EXTREMELY helpful. NOT.**

_You should stop writing if you're a lazy a$$ bastard_

**-- Reading my fanfic is a privilege, not a right. I do not write for you. I write for my own enjoyment, and by posting allow others to share in my enjoyment and appreciation.**


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